


right here (always)

by rectifyinflux



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-30
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 09:28:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2223966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rectifyinflux/pseuds/rectifyinflux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ward will be there for her - in sickness and in health.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. in sickness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KatBauer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatBauer/gifts).



She wakes up with a head so heavy she wonders how many elephants have made their home in there. Her eyes open a crack but aside from the sliver of light creeping in under her door, its pitch black. She gropes on the table for the clock, seeing the numbers 04:23.

 _Shit_. How had she fallen asleep? There was still so much to do, she tries to sit up, the world spins – _oh god_. Why was the world spinning? Her head throbs. Her hand shoots out to steady her, knocking something over.

“Easy.”

She knows that voice. Ward’s here. Why was he here? In – yes, it’s her room. What was he doing in her room?

“What -” God, she sounded like a frog. Ward brings a cup to her lips and she realizes just how thirsty she is. “Can you help me up?”

He does, propping her against him as she tries to eat the crackers, managing three, before the nausea comes back full force. Skye takes the two pills, chasing them down with an entire glass of water.

“Why’re you here?” She turns to the side, watching as Ward wrings a washcloth. It’s nice, cool against her skin, soothing against her burning cheeks.

“You were at 103 before.” He folds it with precision, placing it on her forehead before grabbing another. “We had to get it down.”

He runs it over her arms getting the edge of her sleeve wet, around her bicep, over her elbows, down her forearm and wrist, massaging each of her fingers. He dunks it into the bowl, wrings the cloth and repeats the entire process with her other arm.

“You don’t have to do this – Jemma would’ve,”

“I know.” Ward removes the cloth from her forehead, pushing away the hair plastered to her skin. His movements are gentle, caressing her skin with the kind of touch one reserved for an infant. “I wanted to.”

Skye feels her heart begin to pound, just like before (it’s a reaction she’s been fighting); the warm rush of something ( _she knows what it is but no, she won’t admit it_ ).She feels the prickle, hastily rubbing at her eyes.

“You should sleep.”

“Don’t go.”

“I won’t,” he assures. “I’ll be here if you need anything.”

“No. Stay.” Her fingers have latched onto the front of his shirt, tugging.

Skye’s already half gone, but her grip is strong and she pulls sending him tumbling onto the bed. He braces himself on his arms so that he doesn’t crush her. “Grant.”

He stops fighting, but doesn’t get under the covers (he doesn’t need Coulson or May to kill him), lying back. Skye drapes herself over him, clinging like a starfish. There’s a content sigh as she burrows her face against his chest. He wraps an arm around her, holding tight. “‘S not the same.”

“What is?”

“Team – you – gone – missing.”

It’s his imagination again, playing tricks. Either that or the meds talking. Like when people are drunk and they end up spouting all kinds of nonsense, the things their brain usually actively suppresses. He hears her breathing steady.

He skims his fingers against the exposed skin of her back, it’s still warm, tracing patterns.

“‘S nice.”

“Sleep, Skye.”

“Miss you.”

“I miss you too.” He presses his lips to her hairline, “I always do.”


	2. in health

 

He finds her in the small room she had claimed as hers, working on fifteen different things at once.

“I’m fine, guys!” Skye yells. He can hear the irritation. They’ve been checking up on her. “I can – Ward?”

“I brought food.”

Her nose wrinkles, “I’m not hungry.”

She’s been downing her weight in coffee and Fitz’s snacks. Skye only ever finished entire meals when Coulson and May sat at the table, eyes practically boring into her head until the plate was clean.

On those nights, he would find her in the bathroom, kneeling on the floor. He debates leaving but stays, pulling her hair back until her stomach’s empty and her body’s limp against him. With whatever was left of her energy, she would beg that he kept this between them and then something about Simmons and her ‘pokey tendencies’. He agrees but does his best to make sure she eats.

He leaves her coffee in the morning (2 sugars, 3 extra packets by the side) with a blueberry muffin (that she usually has to fight Fitz for); a sandwich (lots of lettuce, no tomatoes because she can’t stand the watery taste) cut up into bite-size pieces so each one is an accomplishment, not a chore. She carries the empty plate into the dining hall at lunch, a show meant for the team to see that she’s taking care of herself. When she looks his way as he pushes his own meal around, he can’t help but think that it’s mainly for his sake.

“You’ve been here for 34 hours.”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

It’s not. She’s still in the clothes from two days ago with hair messily pulled up into a bun held together with two pens. “Skye, you have to eat.”

“When I’m done.”

Ward picks up a piece, holding it to her lips, “Eat.”

“Later.” She says, pushing his hand away.

“Open.”

“I’m not a child.” She glares but he won’t be swayed. She continues to glare and he only looks back, face neutral until he sees her resolve weaken, the brief flash of annoyance before complying.

It is a long and arduous task, she chews each piece slowly and steadily, but she finishes the entire thing. “Done. Can I work now?”

“You haven’t even had desert.”

“I don’t want desert.”

“Okay then.” Ward says, moving to sit on the couch. “I’ll just have to finish this molten chocolate cake by myself then.”

“Liar. You hate that stuff.”

“I know. But I’d hate to let all this chocolate go to waste.” He swallows a spoonful, letting out a moan. “I think it’s extra fudgy today.”

“That is not going to work.”

“Raspberry filling, Skye.”

He grins as her back stiffens, waits the four seconds. Skye drags her feet to the couch, sitting next to him. “Can I have the cake?”

“I thought you didn’t want it.”

“Ward!” She whines as he moves to take another spoonful.

“Password?”

“Please.”

“No, it was actually 57924. But please works too.”

“Thank you.” She says, curling into his side.

“Anytime, sweetheart.”


End file.
